Flashpoint
by alliterator
Summary: Spikes returns from Africa with a soul. You've heard it already? Not this one. *This story is now on permanent hiatus, in favor of another story I'm writing*
1. Part One

TITLE: Flashpoint (1/?)   
AUTHOR: alliterator  
SUMMARY: Spike returns from Africa with a soul. You heard it already? Not this one.  
SPOILERS: Through "Grave".  
RATING: PG-13  
DISCLAIMER: All characters in this story belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox, no matter how much I whine and plead and beg them, just so I can have one character, but no, they have be all, we own them. Bastards.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I like to thank Anne Blackwell, my first fantastic beta reader.

Light. That was the first thing he saw. Blinding white light. And pain. The light was painful, searing him, electrifying every inch of his being. He could no longer see anything except the light and could no longer feel anything except the pain. It had started in his chest and spread, not slowly, but blindingly fast, outward. Soon, his entire body was in agonizing pain and the light grew brighter.

When Angel was cursed, both times, it took him a minute or so to remember where he was and what he had done. Not so with Spike. When the light diminished and the pain faded, he remembered instantly. He remembered everything: the killing, the torture, the blood, the unbearable things he had done, and he felt pain again. This pain was more painful than the last, and instead of spreading outward, it was everywhere at once. In his still unbeating heart, in his brain that was filled with wire and silicon, and even in the soul he now possessed. Then he reached the newer memories: his love for Buffy, his helping of the Scoobies in their time of need, his promise to protect Dawn, and the pain eased. Then came the most dreaded memory: his attempted rape of Buffy, the violation that he had tried to inflict upon her, and pain increased. It reached a point where he missed the pain of a few moments ago. At that point, he screamed.

The scream echoed through the caves and caverns that made up the demon's home. The demon, turning his head in the direction of the scream, blinked his glowing yellow eyes and then began walking toward the wall of the cave. He quickly and quietly slipped into the wall, an illusion that hid another cave, this one filled with inky darkness.

"It is done," the demon said, his voice deep and echoing in the limitlessness of the cave.

"Great," a voice said, "a job well done. Boy it is dark in here. Let's turn on some lights." And at that moment, the cave lit up, even though there was no electricity within miles and no fire to be seen. The demon shielded his light sensitive eyes and looked towards the center of the cave where another demon, this one seven feet tall with a brownish exoskeleton and a ring under his mouth.

"The vampire has his soul," in the light the demon looked somewhat like a tree, with a leathery, bark-like skin.

"Excellent," the demon, whose names was Skip, said, "so the Powers That Be will have two souled vampires working for them."

"Not quite."

Skip looked at him. "What's you name?"

The demon stared at him with his yellow, piercing eyes. "Oaxaca."

"Well, Oax," Skip put his hand on Oaxaca's shoulder, "if I can call you that. You mean that the vampire will not know he's working for the Powers, but he'll still be doing good, right?"

"No," Oaxaca said stepping to the side and letting Skip's hand fall from his shoulder, "the vampire might not do any good at all."

"What do you mean," Skip said, "he has a soul. You gave it to him."

"Yes, but the worst killers in humanity have all had souls."

"Do you mean that soul hasn't even made a difference?"

"No, the soul did make a difference. He has a choice now. Earlier, he could only do what the demon soul inside him wanted. Now, he has both demon and human souls and can go either way. He can be the Powers' greatest Champion or the Opponent's bloodiest killer. It is his choice."

Skip seemed to contemplate this for a second. "We need someone to guide him, like Whistler did for Angel."

"Spike is unlike Angel," Oaxaca pointed out, "he tried becoming good before he got his soul back. And I doubt he would follow anyone. It's not his style."

"Then how do we get him to follow the path of light and order?"

"Show him the choices. He'll see the different paths he can take and he'll either choose one or the other."

"But he might go to the Opposition's side."

"That will be his choice, then. We cannot control him. It is not the Powers' way to use people as puppets. You can't force him. He needs to choose."

Skip glanced at him and them turned to one of the walls of the cave, which promptly became translucent and showed the image of Spike, lying on the ground. He had stopped screaming and was now unconscious. Skip turned back to Oaxaca. "Good idea."

***

The motorcycle's engine rumbled. It was almost out of gas and he would have to stop to refill it soon. He didn't want to. He didn't want to stop until he reached Sunnydale. Until he reached Buffy. He didn't know what he was going to say, but he wanted to see her. He felt that he had not seen her in a long time, but it was actually just a few weeks. Still he wanted, needed to see her.

But would she want to see him?

The thought ran through his mind, dashing all the hopeful optimistic wonderings there. Of course not. She doesn't want to see her attempted rapist again. She was probably glad that I left and if I returned, she would probably stake me and soon as she saw me.

Then why are you going back?

Because I have to see her. No matter what. No matter if she hates me, no matter is she stakes me, I have to see her.

The engine puttered and he finally stopped at a gas station. He put the nozzle in, paid the attendant, and waited. When the tank was full, he got back on and left, still eager to get to Sunnydale.

Forty miles from Sunnydale, he began to wonder what it would be like to see Dawn again. Did she know? Would Buffy have told her? Xander probably did, the big poofter. His anger grew as he remembered all the things that Xander had done, but he realized that he had hurt Xander, too, with Anya. Why can't it leave me alone? he thought. Why can't that bleeding soul have to stop me from getting angry about people I hate? Because, his soul said back to him, if you got angry, you might do something stupid, like you did last time. I can't hurt Xander, Spike thought, so what's the problem. No, the soul replied, but you can hurt Buffy. That stopped him. What if he got so angry at Xander, he hurt Buffy to get back at him? That would never happen, I love Buffy, he thought, but he realized that he loved her when he tried to rape her also. His love hadn't stopped him then, why would it now? That's why I got the bleeding soul, he thought.

When he reached the Sunnydale town limits, he stopped at the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign. The old Spike had ran it over every time he had come back. The first time it was because he thought he would destroy the town, just as he had the sign. The second time, he was drunk as hell. The times after that, it was symbolic of his hate for it. Sunnydale, the place that had seen him beaten, crippled, defenseless. But he always came back. What for? A cure for Drusilla, a challenge for him, the gem of Amarra, a need for revenge? He had once said "I came back to Sunnydale for it, a place which has witnessed some truly spectacular kickings of my ass." But for what had he come back for now?

Buffy.

He left the sign untouched as he rode into Sunnydale.

***

The first thing he did was go to her house. He didn't know why, he just wanted to see it. Wanted to see if she was there. She was. She stepped out of the door and she looked radiant. Better than she had ever looked before.

He wanted to go up to her. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg her for forgiveness. He wanted to tell her how he was so sorry that he would sometimes think that the only way to truly redeem him was to just stake himself. He wanted to plead her to take his life, his death, his anything. He wanted absolution. He wanted peace.

He hid. Across the street, behind brush and bush, he hid. He watched as Buffy and Dawn started walking down the street, chattering about Dawn's classes in school and how Willow's recovery was coming along. He followed them.

In the graveyard, they were attacked by four vamps. It took every inch of restraint to not try and protect them, but he held back in the shadows. He saw as Dawn, the little bit, successfully beheaded a vamp and staked another. He saw them, after slaying, go and get frozen yogurt and talk more about school and slaying. Buffy insisted that Dawn only slay until 10 PM on school nights, Dawn wanted to go until midnight. They settled at 11 and then left to go back home.

In the shadows, he watched as they slept and dreamt. When the sun began to rise, he quietly left and went to his crypt.

Inside his crypt, it was not as he expected. Instead of his dark and dank crypt, with only a television set and recliner, there was actual furniture. A sofa was propped against a tomb and a loveseat sat next to it. His television and refrigerator had been moved and the place looked very different.

"What the bleeding hell happened here," he shouted. There was a crash in bottom level of the crypt and the trap door opened. Clem poked his wrinkled head out.

"Spike," he sounded surprised, "I didn't know you were back."

"Just got in. What did you do to my crypt?"

"I, uh, didn't know how long you were going to be gone, so I, uh, redecorated."

"Where's my recliner?!"

"I, uh, replaced it with the loveseat," Clem got out fully from the trapdoor and went and sat down on the loveseat, "Isn't it great? I got it real cheap."

Spike glared at him. "Right now, all I want to do is sit in my recliner and watch the telly. I can't do that in a bloody loveseat."

"I'll bring it back up here as soon as possible," Clem turned to the trap door and then turned back. "Do you know everything about what happened while you were gone?" he asked.

"No," Spike said sarcastically, "I just got in and I haven't asked anybody about the sodding news."

"Uh, well, you might want to sit down for this."

Spike looked around at the loveseat and raised his eyebrows. "Maybe not."

Clem looked at him in a weird way and them said, "I just know the things Dawn told me, alright. You know about Warren, right?"

"Leader of the nerd triad," Spike was getting impatient, "what's he got to do with it? Did Buffy finally send him behind bars yet?"

"Not quite," Clem sighed and then, realizing that the loveseat was unoccupied, sat down. "He went to Buffy house with a gun."

Spike's expression suddenly dropped. "He didn't… I saw her,"

"Buffy recovered from being shot," Clem said, "Tara did not."

Spike sat down suddenly on the sofa. "Is she…"

"She died."

Spike got up from his seat and paced around his crypt, hands running through his hair. This would never have happened had I not left. I should have stayed, should have…

"Willow went off the deep end."

Spike looked up from his worrying at Clem. His expression was completely serious, with a tinge of sadness. "What?"

"She killed Warren."

"Good for her," Spike was glad the murderer was dead and his soul raised no objections.

"And then tried to end the world."

Spike sat down again. His mind flashed to all the memories he had of Willow, innocent Willow. The time he had kidnapped her; the time he had tried and failed to bite her; her voice in his mind, telling him to go up and save Dawn. "What happened?"

"Xander got to her in time and stopped her."

Xander. He had been there and he had saved her. He had saved the whole world. Who have guessed? Certainly not Spike. Spike suddenly wished that he could reverse time, go back and not do the things he did. Not leave, not try and violate Buffy. He just wanted to be there when she needed help, but instead he had gone off. Run off like a coward.

Clem's voice interrupted his train of thought. "If you want me to leave right now, it's alright, I can find another place to stay."

"No," Spike realized that Clem had been there where Spike had left and he felt that he owned Clem something. "You can stay, I'll find someplace else."

"No, it's okay, I can pull out the roll-a-way bed," Clem said. He turned and opened the trap door leading to the bottom of the crypt. Spike looked down, expecting to see it wrecked from the grenade that Buffy had plunged in it, but instead it looked neat and tidy, with more furniture. "I cleaned it up," Clem said.

"Thanks," Spike said, genuinely, "I'll just get some sleep now." With that he climbed down and dropped onto the floor.

"I'll stay on the roll-a-way, since it's your bed," Clem said from the opening of the trap door.

"Thanks, again," Spike said as he lay down on the bed sitting in the corner.

Sleep did not come easily. When he closed his eyes, he either saw Willow, intent on ruining the world that ruined her life, Tara, lying still and dead, blood pooling from her wound, or Buffy, lying on the cold bathroom floor, clutching at her robe. Clem's snoring didn't help either.

After about an hour, he got back up and went to the television. He sat down on the sofa and watched soap operas, trying to get his mind from thinking about anything.

***

Hours had past. The sun had finally set and the moon was out, only about a sliver of moonlight showing. Spike opened the door of his crypt and looked out. Now was as good a time as ever.

Along the graveyards and cemeteries he walked. He knew Buffy would be out there, patrolling. He wanted to talk, now that he knew about Willow and Tara and everything. He wanted to apologize for not being there, for not helping her. He wanted to tell her that if he had known, he would have gone back immediately. He would have sacrificed his life to save her.

But then he realized that it wouldn't make a difference. He wasn't there, he hadn't known. It was no use saying what would have happened had he been there, he hadn't been there, he had been in Africa. He had run away, selfishly and cowardly.

He slowed down, realizing that everything he was planning on saying to her didn't make a difference. But he knew that even if he didn't know what he was going to say, he had to say something. Anything. So he walked on, searching for Buffy.

He found her in the sixth graveyard he looked in. She was there fighting a scaly demon, his claws almost raking her flesh. He wanted to go up and snap the demon's neck, but he was too far away. Buffy spun and broke the demon's leg with a kick and then its arm with a well-placed punch. The demon was furious. It jumped at her, trying to slash her throat with its working arm. She dodged its attack and picked up a sword that had been lying in the grass and then promptly impaled the demon. It slumped to the ground, dead.

Spike approached Buffy and felt a pain in his chest. "Buffy," he called out to her.

She turned around and her eyes grew wide. "Spike," she said in disbelief.

"Buffy, I…" The pain in his chest increased. He didn't know what to say. What could he say? The pain multiplied and spread across his torso. As he searched for something to say, the pain grew and spread through his legs and arms. It soon reached the tips of his fingers and toes and then spread to his head. He stood there, with the pain in all of his body, and tried to speak. "Buffy…"

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light. Like the pain, it started in his chest, but it spread much, much quicker. Soon, it encompassed him and he could no longer move. He was paralyzed by the light and the pain. He felt himself slipping, where he did not know. The light and the pain pulled at him, tugged at his very being. It started to drag him. He managed to shout out "Buf…" and then he was completely pulled in.

The light dimmed and the darkness returned to the graveyard, leaving a very confused Slayer.

End Part One


	2. Part Two

TITLE: Flashpoint (2/?)   
AUTHOR: alliterator  
SUMMARY: Spike returns from Africa with a soul. You heard it already? Not this one.  
SPOILERS: Through "Grave".  
RATING: PG-13  
DISCLAIMER: All characters in this story belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox, no matter how much I whine and plead and beg them, just so I can have one character, but no, they have be all, we own them. Bastards.

It was wet. The things he was touching, the things he was grabbing at. They slipped out of his hand as he desperately tried to hold on to them. He pulled at them, but they slipped out of his grasp. He opened his eyes. Grass. That was what he had been pulling at. He had been grabbing and tearing at grass. Then he realized he was lying on the ground on the cemetery he had been at. The cemetery where he had gone to talk to Buffy. Where he had felt the pain and light and had slipped away. Just like the grass in his fingers. He got up.

"Bloody hell," Spike said as a headache wracked his brain and a dazzling lightshow covered the inside of his eyelids. "Buffy?" He opened his eyes and looked around the cemetery. There was no one there. The graveyard was empty expect for a chill wind that passed among the lonely graves.

Where'd she go? Spike thought. She wouldn't have run off and left me would she? She probably went off to fetch Xander or somebody.

Better go back to my crypt, he thought. If Xander finds me, he'll probably stake me.

A 20-minute trek later and he was back at his crypt. "Clem," he called out. No answer. "Good, I'm alone." He turned on the television and sat down on his recliner. A thought occurred to him and then he stood up and looked down at the recliner. "Clem must have come through," he said, thinking it out in his mind. Clem had put his recliner back up here because Spike had told him to. Simple. But as Spike looked around his crypt, he noticed that other things were different. There was no sofa, no loveseat, only dust and Spike's recent footprints.

Shouldn't Clem's footprints be there, too?

Spike shoved the trapdoor open and looked inside. It was neat, but not like it had been. There was no roll-a-way, no colorful magnets on the refrigerator that Clem had put up, and the furniture was… the exact some place he had it about a year ago.

What was going on?

Spike slammed the trapdoor shut and walked out of his crypt hurrying. He needed find out what had happened when he was unconscious. He needed to know what had happened to him. He decided to go the Magic Box. Someone there would know, Anya or maybe Willow. The same Willow who tried to end the world.

What was happening?

"Spike." A voice stopped him in his tracks. Spike turned around and looked uneasily at Giles. He had thought Giles had been in England, but with all the messed up things that had happened he hadn't been surprised to see him. Just disappointed.

"Look I know what you're going to say, but…" Spike stopped talking when he saw the wooden stake in Giles's hand. Did Buffy tell him about what happened? Was he going to stake him right there?

"How went patrol?" Giles said the last thing Spike thought he would.

Spike didn't know what to say. "What?"

"Did you kill any vampires? I'm afraid that my patrol was rather uneventful." Was this a trick? Was Giles messing with him to get revenge? Or did this have something to do with the changes that had happened?

"Uh, I did okay," Spike said, "I, uh, think something happened to me though."

"Oh, what?" If Giles was playing a game, his facial expression sure didn't show it.

"I went unconscious during… patrol." Well, technically he had been patrolling, just not for vampires. 

"Well, we better check you out at the Magic Box," Giles said. He started walking down in the direction where the shop was. Spike followed him.

***

The Magic Box looked the same, which Spike thought was weird. He expected it to be different, to have changed since everything had happened, but it looked no different at all. It looked the same from when he had been in it last. When he and Anya had… he tried not to think about it. The store still had the musty smell of old books to it, that stayed no matter how much Anya tried to get it out, spraying lemon pine sol everywhere. The shelves were still in the same places, with all the crystals and objects neatly in place, Anya having obsessively placed them according to size and use. Even the little bell above the doorway was still there, the one with that always annoyed him when he walked in.

"You'd better describe to me what happened," Giles ran his finger through some books that were on the countertop; lifting up a layer of dust before he chose the one he wanted.

Spike sat down on one of the stools next to the counter while Giles looked for the appropriate book. "I was looking for Buffy," Giles lifted his head from the book, surprised. "in the cemetery," Giles looked down again and Spike wondered why he had looked startled. "When I felt a lot of pain and then went unconscious."

"You're probably pretty lucky," Giles flipped through the book, looking for the right page, "whatever hit you wasn't fatal. Let's see... here's the index. Do you remember anything else?"

"There was a bright flash of light," Spike looked at him, still trying to understand why he was helping him. "Does that help?"

"Yes, actually, it does," Giles ran his finger up and down the index. "Hmmm... no not Iager lizard demons or Igygian temples... ah here it is..."

"Here what is?" Spike looked at him quizzically.

"The Illume affect," Giles flipped through the pages again, intent on looking for the page.

"And what would that be?"

"Ah," Giles found what he was looking for and buried his nose in it. "A mystical phenomenon that open dimensional gateways triggered by a flash –" He was interrupted by the sound of the bell above the doorway.

"Well, look who's here."

Spike looked up from the place he was sitting and saw the source of the voice, immediately regretting it.

Standing in the doorway was Xander and Willow, each holding a stake in their hands.

***

"Look, it's not what you think," Spike got up defensively and looked for another exit. Xander approached him and Spike backed away, bumping into the counter. Xander held the stake tightly as he approached Spike.

"Geez, where have you been?" Xander said.

"What?" Spike looked at him with confusion.

"Next time you go on patrol all alone tell us, okay?" Xander put the stake back in his pocket.

"Again I saw, what?" Spike said, but Xander ignored it and went to Giles.

"So what's the sitch, watcher-man?" Xander said to him.

"Please don't call me that," Giles replied. "It appears Spike had an episode."

"Psychotic episode? I knew it was just a matter of time."

"A mystical episode," Giles looked back down at his book. "Something called the Illume affect."

"Can we help?" Willow walked across the Magic Box and came to the counter next to Xander. "Maybe I can do a spell."

Spike looked at her with his eyes filled with confusion. "I thought you were..."

"What?" Willow said.

"Nothing," Spike decided that it was better not to say anything and just try and figure out what was going on himself.

Willow hopped the counter, ignoring a disapproving look from Giles, and started looking through the tomes. "Maybe I can find out some more about this Illume affect. Like why it happens."

"I've already figured out what triggers it," Giles said turning back to the page in the book. "It's called a flash –" The bell above the front door rang again.

"Hey guys, what are you doing?" Spike looked at the person in front of him, not believing what he was seeing. Tara? It looked like her. But Clem had said... it couldn't be her. Could it? Clem must have been mistaken. Because there she was, bright as day. Spike could smell her and confirmed she was there and not some mirage his chip-addled brain was showing to him. She was real.

"Hey, Tara," Willow smiled and looked at her girlfriend. "I thought you were back at the house?"

"I changed my mind," Tara walked over to the counter and sat down on a stool, "thought you might need some help with whatever's happening."

"Good," Willow flashed a toothy grin, "cause it seems that Spike's having a mystical problem."

"Ahem," everybody turned back to Giles. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted twice, the phenomena is triggered by a flashpoint."

"A what-point?" Xander, as usual, was clueless. Spike observed this with humor, although he himself didn't know what it was either.

"A flashpoint," Giles repeated.

"And what is that?"

Giles shook his head. "I don't know."

"Maybe," Tara said, "Anya could help. She knows demon stuff."

"Nah," Xander said, "she's been having a rough time and I don't want to wake her up."

At this point Spike was getting upset. All he knew about what happened to him was that it was some phenomenon that happened because of a flashpoint, whatever the bloody hell that was. He was confused at why Giles was back in Sunnydale, why Willow seemed to be still doing magic, and why Tara was still alive. But basically all he really wanted to do was see Buffy. He needed to. "Why don't we just call the Slayer?" he finally said.

All the eyes turned towards him. "Spike," Giles said to him, "I don't think that Faith could help us from jail."

Where they all just stupid? "Not Faith," Spike said, "Buffy."

The room was quiet. All their eyes now avoided him, looking towards the wall or ceiling or floor. Anywhere but him. "Spike," Xander said finally tearing his eyes away from the countertop, "Buffy's dead."

"What? No she's not." Had they all gone out of their minds? He had been speaking to her less than an hour before... before whatever the hell that hit him happened. "She's alive. I saw her."

"Spike," Giles walked up to him, "she died two years ago. She jumped from the tower, saving the world."

"No," Spike back away, "I mean, yes, she did do that and she did die, but you brought her back." He turned to Willow. "You brought her back."

"No, we didn't," Willow said. "You stopped us. Don't you remember? You said that is was wrong to disturb her, that she was probably in Heaven or something. You said, if we brought her back, she wouldn't be the same. She wouldn't be Buffy."

"No," Spike repeated, "No, she's alive. She's not dead. She can't be dead."

"We can prove it."

***

The tombstone stood high, like it was in the upper hierarchy of tombstones. It rested in a little nook of the cemetery where no one who wasn't looking could find it. Spike looked down and saw it. Her grave. The place where she lay, having finally escape the pain and suffering of the world. Her final resting place. Her peace.

"No," Spike said, "she's not here."

"But she is, Spike," Giles said calmly, placing flowers next to the tombstone. "This is where we buried her."

"No," Spike pushed his hand through his hair, "she's not in there. She's not in there." He couldn't stand it. The soul... the soul was hurting now. Worse than ever. Worse than when it dragged up all the memories of those he killed. Worse than the memory of the attempted rape. The soul was in pain and Spike was in pain. "SHE'S NOT IN THERE!" Spike yelled and launched himself at the tombstone, shattering it.

"Spike," Giles said going forward.

"Giles, I don't think he can hear you," Willow gripped his shoulder. "I think he's gone."

And he was gone. His mind was no longer there. After breaking the tombstone, he had started to pull up dirt above the grave. Dig it up. Dirt ran through his hands, soiling his pants and shirt, but he didn't care. He reached for something to dig with and grabbed a piece of the broken off tombstone. He started digging more violently. Above him were voices, distant and caring.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Can we do anything to help him?"

"I don't think so. I think he's gone out of his mind."

"Is he a danger? Can he hurt anyone?"

"The chip will prevent him from hurting humans, but he could hurt himself."

"What should we do?"

"I believe the only way to stop his pain, is to end his being."

"Kill him?"

"It would be the merciful thing to do."

He drowned the voices out as he dug. His hands were now bloody, having been cut and scraped from the tombstone fragment, but he didn't care. Hand to ground, scoop the dirt, throw it behind, hand to ground... he repeated the same process of digging, thinking desperately "She's not there, she can't be there, she's not dead, she's not there, she's alive, I saw her, she's alive..." And he kept digging.

Hours passed. His fingers were scarred and bent and covered with dirt and grime. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically. Sunrise was going to come up in fifteen minutes, but he kept digging. And he came to it. The coffin. It was mahogany and heavy, but he threw the rest of the dirt out of the six-foot hole he had dug. He lifted the coffin's edge and felt a pain in his chest. He opened the coffin fully and the pain exploded.

There she was. Lying there, resting peacefully. Her hair was golden and her face was decomposed. "NO!" Spike cried out flinging himself into the coffin. Burning tears flowed down his face as he looked at Buffy. The pain was too much to bear. He faced her and looked into her eyes, her deep set eyes. They didn't look back. She was dead.

The salt from his tears poured into his wounds and he screamed. He looked down at his dear beloved Buffy and thought, "I did this to her. I made her like this. This is my fault." The pain was excruciating, almost unbearable, like a thousand little needles were stabbing into him all over at the same time.

He leaned down into the coffin and looked into her face. The pain was everywhere now. He saw her blonde hair and hazel eyes and sunken face and he said "Goodbye."

The pain took him. It pulled him in. The light – the Illume – pulled him in and this time, he offered no resistance. He let himself be sucked in by the whirlwind of light and pain. And he was gone.

End Part Two


End file.
